Drabbles
by ChocolateBall1
Summary: Abandoned, random, and/or incomplete Hetalia drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

**Just making this clear: These are my incomplete and probably abandoned Hetalia fanfictions.**

**Enjoy?**

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><p><strong>And The War Came - American Civil War<strong> _- Incomplete, working on a new version._

He saw himself on the other side of the battlefield.

It wasn't really himself, not in his eyes; he refused to acknowledge it. For someone who had such different beliefs compared to his, how could it be? It wasn't just slavery they disagreed on; they also had different lifestyles, different economies, and different beliefs on the government. They were unlike each other in every single way besides their looks. But inside, he knew that it was himself whom he saw.

Fire burned. The air filled with choking smoke which had drifted off to the gloomy gray sky, but the ashes stayed down on the sandy beach. Fallen soldiers were strewed all over the ground, every single one of them dead. All was silent, but it was a deadly silence. All was calm, but the two males who stood facing each other were tensed up, waiting for something to happen.

A few more moments passed by like this before the one with glasses lowered his bayonet and said, "So here we are again."

The opposite one glared, but lowered his weapon as well. He nodded. "Here we are again."

"Well, give up yet?" the Confederate States of America asked. He gestured towards a raised red flag waving in the air, which had a blue X through it. "I won this battle and you have suffered heavy casualties. Looks like those silly blacks did a terrible job of leading the attack," he sneered.

The United States of America, offended by the racist remark, spat back, "Never. I won't give up and I never intend to give up! You might have won this one, and I may have undertaken the deaths of many, but that's not enough to stop me. I will do everything I can to stop slavery, even if it means losing all of my men, one by one!"

As the Union stood there, huffing, his face more crimson than the colour of his army's spilled blood, the Confederate States simply chuckled.

"How foolish you are," he said, crossing his arms and leaning back slightly on the air. A grin danced upon his face. "Do you really think you can defeat me that easily? Even England is siding with me." A laugh sounded from the Confederate States's mouth. "My father. _Our_ father, I should say. The one who raised us? He abandoned you. He loves me more," he jeered, enjoying the look of hurt that crossed the Union's face.

Nantucket bristled with anger as the Union clenched his fists tightly. It wasn't true. It _couldn't_ be true. England loved him as much as he loved him as a child. Right? Wasn't it the truth?

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><p><strong>AN: **I have no idea how historically accurate this is.

Another version of this will be coming, since I realized this is not the way I wanted it to go. I still like it though. I just lost quite a bit of interest in it as I wrote it.


	2. Chapter 2

**No Title** - _Incomplete_

Was that him? Was that Toris? Feliks stared intensely over the book he was pretending to read. It had to be Toris, thought Feliks. No one else would have that lovely, soft brown hair and those gorgeous green eyes. Nor would anybody else have that cute, nervous smile or such an adorable laugh…

The Polish shook his head to get rid of his fantasies, reminding himself what he was here for. He was going to ask out Toris to the dance that was this Friday, and he had to do it now, before anyone else could stake a claim on him. The blonde moved to get up from where he was sitting–

– only to sit right back down. No, he couldn't do it. Why he couldn't do such a simple task, Feliks was at lost. Something in his stomach was making him feel ill. It was as if a thousand butterflies were fluttering around in there. Could the Polish possibly be nervous? Nah, that couldn't be it. Feliks never got nervous! No, no, he must have an upset stomach. As the girlish blonde thought over this, he didn't notice a certain Lithuanian walk over.

"Uhm, Feliks?"

Feliks squeaked and jumped a little before directing his gaze to the person speaking. He blushed when he realized that Toris was talking to him.

Since when did Feliks _blush_?

"Oh, uhm, like hi Toris!" Feliks blubbered out. Inwardly he winced; that was _so _not cool. "I, like, totally love the outfit you're wearing today!" All thoughts of asking the boy in front of him to the school dance flew out of the blonde's head as he struggled to find something to say.

"Ah, thanks…? But it's what I wear every day," replied Toris, confused. "It's the male uniform we wear here, so…"

"Right…" said Feliks, his face heating up even further as he starting biting his lip. How stupid he sounded right now! What a fool he was making of himself!

Then he noticed the weird look Toris was giving him.

"I-is something wrong?" stammered Feliks. Stuttering? He really must be sick!

"Oh, well," blushed Toris, averting his gaze from Feliks's. The Polish couldn't help but think how pink suited Toris so perfectly, especially the way it fanned over his face…and when he brushed his fingertips against his shirt to flick off a piece of dust, oh wow, that shirt looked so soft –

He was getting off track again.

The brunette continued. "It's just that, well, I just came over to say…" Toris was scratching the back of his head now, looking at anywhere _but _Feliks.

Becoming frustrated to know what the shy male had to say, the blonde demanded, "Yes, yes, what is it?"

"…you've been holding that book upside down for a while now."

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><p><strong>AN**: Poor Poland. Anyway, considering I had no real plot for this story and it was a rather generic idea anyway, I lost total interest in it. Anyone can steal the idea if they would like, I don't care.


	3. Chapter 3

**Balloon – **_Incomplete, abandoned_

"Daddy! Daddy!"

At the sound of his two boys calling to him, Arthur turned around tiredly with a small smile on his face to greet his sons. Behind the running children was Frances, who was taking his time to walk over to Arthur. Even so, there was a big smile plastered on his face.

"Yes, what is it?" chuckled Arthur, bending down to hug Alfred and Matthew. "Why are you two so excited?"

Still giggling, from behind their backs the two produced string and a deflated balloon. "Look," shouted Alfred, "we got you a balloon!"

"All we need to do is blow it up," added Matthew quietly.

Arthur laughed again, but now with a hint of befuddlement was laced into it. "Thank you," he said, "But why would you get me a balloon…?"

"They wanted to cheer you up," said Francis, who had finally reached them. "They noticed you were down in the dumps lately and decided to buy a balloon for you."

"Do you not like it?" asked Alfred, with a hint of dejection in his voice. Matthew's cute grin had turned downwards and he looked ready to cry.

"Oh no! No, no, no, no, no," cried Arthur, gathering his two sons into a hug. "I love it very much! I'm glad you guys were thinking about me," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting up. "It cheers me up knowing about it."

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><p><strong>AN: **Gross. Grossssssss. This is terrible. This is a _perfect_ example of why I don't do well in writing.

Now that I think of it, I wonder what spurred me to write fanfiction. Huh…I used to be so against it…oh well.

Originally inspired by this: _"Nobody can be uncheered by a balloon." –Winnie the Pooh_


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